Mrs. Little shook her head. Then she said, graciously, “I hear it is to you I am indebted that people can see I was once—what I am not now.”
Grace smiled, well pleased. “Ah,” said she, “I wish you could have seen that extraordinary scene, and heard dear Mr. Raby. Oh, madam, let nothing make you believe you have no place in his great heart!”
“Pray, pray, do not speak of that. This is no place. How could I bear it?” and Mrs. Little began to tremble.
Grace apologized. “How indiscreet I am; I blurt out every thing that is in my heart.”
“And so do I,” said Henry, coming to her aid.
“Ah, YOU,” said Grace, a little saucily.
“We do not accept you for our pattern, you see. Pray excuse our bad taste, Harry.”
“Oh, excuse ME, Mrs. Little. In some things I should indeed be proud if I could imitate him; but in others—of course—you know!”
“Yes, I know. My dear, there is your friend Mr. Applethwaite.”
“I see him,” said Henry, carelessly.